


The Dating Game

by Amjead



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternative Universe - Different Job, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Eventual Smut, M/M, Matchmaker Sherlock, Top John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-02-28 18:35:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2742827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amjead/pseuds/Amjead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes is the best matchmaker around. There's only one problem. He just can't seem to figure out his flatmate John's type.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is inspired by the talented Empirically Not Good's much better Youtube video of the same name.
> 
> You probably already knew this, but Rodashire is not a real place.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock attempts to deduce John's type and gets a big surprise.

Sherlock Holmes lived in the small village of Rodashire, England with his friend and sometimes assistant Dr. John Watson. Dr. Watson was originally from London, but he eventually decided that he wanted a change from life in the big city. So, when Sherlock Holmes was placing advertisements in newspapers looking for someone to share his flat with, John jumped at the chance. They'd been living together for three years now. He greatly enjoyed living in the small village.

Sherlock, however, had been living in Rodashire for awhile now. He knew everything about everyone who lived there. One hears a great deal about a lot when living in a small town. Plus, there was Sherlock's keen eye for deductions. Sherlock could deduce anything about anyone's personality even if nothing was ever said out loud about it. That was why Sherlock was the perfect candidate for his job, matchmaking.

Well, Sherlock preferred the term, “dating consultant.” He always felt that, “matchmaker” was too _Fiddler on the Roof._ Anyway, what would happen is that people would come in and they would tell Sherlock about their personality. Sherlock would proceed to make about fifty more deductions about their true personality. Then, he would tell them who in town they should date. Conversely, sometimes Sherlock's clients would tell him about the person of their dreams. Since Sherlock already knew everything about everyone, he could give his clients a well informed, unbiased opinion of whether or not they should be with them.

Most people said that Sherlock was too blunt for the job. He didn't sugarcoat anything. If someone had lousy traits about them, Sherlock would not hold back. If the person someone was chasing after was a terrible choice, Sherlock would tell them straight out. Now, despite most people saying that Sherlock was too brusque, they all agreed that he was absolutely perfect at making matches.

There was one person, however, that Sherlock couldn't make any matches for. That would be his very own flatmate.

When John first learned of what Sherlock did for a living, he asked him, “What's my type? Who in this town would you match me with?”

Sherlock was absolutely stunned to discover that he couldn't make any solid deductions about who would be a good match for John.

At that time, he covered his lack of an answer by saying, “I haven't know you for very long. Give it time and I'll be able to match you perfectly.”

 

\---

 

One day, Sherlock and John were eating dinner together. Well, John was eating. Sherlock was just sort of sitting with his dinner plate. The two men were silent, but then John decided to break it with a question.

“Hey, Sherlock, have you ever matched up anyone with yourself?”

Sherlock kind of awkwardly looked around.

Then, he answered, “No.”

“Why not?” pressed John.

“Well, I've always considered myself married to my work,” Sherlock explained. “Besides, there's no one in this town who's my type. I know far too much about them all.”

“Well, I've lived in this town for three years now and you still don't know everything about me,” said John. “We've been living together for quite some time now and you still haven't deduced my type yet.”

“That is not true,” countered Sherlock. “I may not have the clearest of pictures as to what your type is exactly, but I have gathered a plethora of information on what your ideal partner would be like.”

“Oh, really?” asked John with a touch of cockiness in his voice. “Go on then. Tell me. What has the great Sherlock Holmes deduced about my dating potential?”

“First off, I can tell that you want someone unexpected,” Sherlock said.

“Unexpected?” John questioned. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you despise predictability,” Sherlock explained. “You feel that there is a certain type of girl that people would expect you to be with, but you're not like that. You don't go for the usual girl. You want someone different and unconventional. Like I said, you want someone unexpected.”

“All right,” said John. “I guess I can see what you're saying. I definitely don't want the girl people would expect. I suppose the person I want would be an unconventional choice. Keep going. Tell me more.”

“Honesty is a quality you find very attractive,” Sherlock continued. “You're not into small talk or beating around the bush. You want people to say what they mean and mean what they say. Also, your kind heart makes you want someone who is knowledgeable about their fellow man. Oh, and your sensitive side appreciates a good memory. You want someone who would remember anniversaries or that your favorite color is gold.”

“My favorite color is gold,” said John.

“I know,” replied Sherlock. “I told you. I know everything about everyone in town, even a transplant like you. Anyway, my conclusion is that you are absolutely attracted to-”

“You.”

It was only one little word, but that one little word rendered Sherlock completely speechless. He opened his mouth to try and speak, but nothing came out.

After a few failed attempts, Sherlock was finally able to get out, “So, um, in fact, y-you mean?”

“Yes?” John gently pressed. He knew what Sherlock was going to say. He just wanted to hear him say it.

“I'm your...”

John conceded that Sherlock wasn't able to say it. So, he said it for him.

“You're my type. Of course.”

Sherlock was utterly confused.

“I don't understand,” he admitted.

“Well, let's take a look at your deductions of what my type is,” John said. “I find honesty attractive. I've never met anyone more brutally honest than you. I like it when people are aware of what's going on in the lives of others. You know everything about everyone as you keep telling me. I want someone with a good memory. I think I told you my favorite color once and that was last year. You said it yourself, Sherlock. I want someone unexpected. Who's more unexpected than you?”

“I never suspected you to be gay,” Sherlock confessed.

John shrugged and said, “I'm not so much gay as I am open. Maybe that's why you didn't deduce my occasional penchant for men. Anyway, now that I've stuck my neck out very far, I suppose this is the part where I ask you for a date. What do you say, Sherlock? Does that sound like something you'd like?”

Sherlock stared straight ahead at his flatmate. John tried to read Sherlock's expression. Was he excited? Was he annoyed? Mostly, he just looked embarrassed.

“I don't think I can,” whispered Sherlock. With that, he left the flat and went on a very long walk. He didn't return home until the next morning.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A stranger visits the flat and offers some information on Sherlock's past.

John and Sherlock faced each other awkwardly the next day. Things continued to stay awkward, but as the week progressed they got a bit more comfortable with each other again. It wasn't perfect. John still felt rejected and Sherlock still felt overwhelmed, but at least they could be civil with each other. As long as Sherlock still spoke to him, John would take whatever he could get.

One day, as John was handing a cup of tea to Sherlock, a strange man barged into their flat.

He looked at the cup being passed and smugly asked, “Am I interrupting something?”

“Who are you?” asked John with great concern.

“How the hell did you get in here?” Sherlock asked. It was obvious that he was quite annoyed.

“I know where the spare key is,” said the stranger casually. 

John took a quick assessment of the situation. A strange man just barged into the flat. He knew where the spare key was and his presence was obviously angering Sherlock. John's instincts put him into fight mode. He pushed the teacup into Sherlock's hand, stood up, and stepped closer to the stranger. He tried his best to make himself seem imposing even though the strange man was taller than him. Most people were taller than John Watson. So, he knew a few tricks on making himself appear bigger.

“I don't know who they hell you are,” seethed John. “But if you so much as-”

His statement was cut off by the stranger's chuckling.

“If I do so much as what?” he asked. “Visit my little brother?”

John's mind went blank. He was not expecting that.

“Little brother?” John repeated. He looked back at Sherlock who nodded his head. John turned his attention back to Sherlock's brother.

“Mycroft Holmes,” he said as he stuck his hand out.

“Dr. John Watson,” he said as he shook it.

“Your friend certainly is amusing,” said Mycroft to his brother. “Have you deduced yet that he's absolutely attracted to you?”

John coughed in embarrassment and Sherlock blushed.

“Oh, you have deduced that then,” said Mycroft. He chuckled smugly again and asked, “Should we expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?”

“I'm going out,” said Sherlock tensely. With that, he grabbed his coat and stormed out the door.

Once they heard the front door slam shut, Mycroft turned to John and said, “You must forgive him. The topic of love always makes him touchy.”

“I never knew he had a brother,” said John, changing the subject.

“I'm not surprised he never told you about me,” Mycroft admitted. “He's always resented me. Usually he just pretends that I don't exist.”

“I'm a little confused,” said John. “I've lived with him for three years and I've never met you. Why are you suddenly showing up now?”

“I found out that earlier this week, my brother spent the night on a park bench,” explained Mycroft. “I thought that I should probably check on him.”

“A park bench?” John repeated. “How did you know that? I didn't even know that and I live with him.”

“Sherlock is my little brother, Dr. Watson,” Mycroft said. “I wouldn't be worth my salt if I didn't know absolutely everything he's up to. Anyway, like I said, I felt that I should check on him. Especially since the last time he fell asleep on a park bench, he ended up going to rehab.”

This caught John by surprise.

“Rehab?” he questioned. “What do you mean?”

“Sit down and hand me Sherlock's cup of tea,” instructed Mycroft. “This is going to be a lengthy story.”

“When Sherlock was eighteen, a man named Jim Moriarty moved in next door,” Mycroft began. “He was handsome, rich, and twenty-five years old. He came to eat dinner with my family one evening and could just smell the naivety and rebellious nature on Sherlock. It was almost disgusting the way he flirted with him. Within the week, he and Sherlock had become, um, intimate friends.”

John felt himself involuntarily shudder at that last part.

“Now, like I said, Mr. Moriarty was a rich man,” Mycroft continued. “He was constantly showering Sherlock with extravagant gifts. It was usually nice clothes or fancy dates. It was like something out of a trashy romance novel. What do the girls in those books call their rich gentlemen lovers? Oh, that's right. Sugar daddies.”

John shuddered again. He felt sort of icky hearing this story, but Mycroft kept going.

“Anyway, one day, he gave Sherlock a very particular gift. Mr. Moriarty presented Sherlock with a case of cigarettes. Well, Sherlock thought that they were cigarettes. In actuality, it was not tobacco in them, but cocaine. Mr. Moriarty got Sherlock absolutely addicted to the stuff.”

“Sherlock was so proud of himself. He had his fancy, older boyfriend who gave him fancy, expensive gifts. Now he had his fancy, adult cigarettes. Naturally, our parents didn't know. I knew, but I didn't say anything. If Sherlock wanted to ruin his life, that was on him. Anyway, our parents finally found out what Sherlock was up to when he was discovered sleeping naked on a park bench with a condom shoved up his arse. He was sent to rehab to get clean.”

John felt sick when he thought of the implications of a drugged up Sherlock with a condom in him.

“When Sherlock got out, our parents would not allow him back into their home in London,” said Mycroft. “He had to move out. That's when he came here, to Rodashire.”

“What happened to that Moriarty guy?” John asked. “Did he get arrested? Did he get clean?”

“I don't know if he ever got clean, but he definitely was never arrested,” Mycroft said. “Sherlock actually contacted him once he was out of rehab. He went to Mr. Moriarty all weepy and with proclamations of love. Mr. Moriarty didn't want to hear it though. He was too busy with his new girlfriend and baby son for Sherlock. In fact, when Sherlock went back to see him, Mr Moriarty told him that he never loved him. He was just looking for an able person to sell his wares. Unfortunately, Sherlock was just too weak for the job. I suppose that explains his aversion to love. The only man he ever loved was merely using him as transport.”

John was silent as he processed what Mycroft told him.

“This is a lot to take it,” he said.

“I imagine so,” said Mycroft. He took a sip from the teacup and said, “Well, I imagine that Sherlock will be furious that I told you all of this. I think he'll be more furious if I'm still here when he gets back. So, I shall be heading off. A pleasure to meet you, Dr. Watson.” He left as John pondered many things in his heart.

 

\---

 

As Mycroft passed through the front door of the flat, he ran into Sherlock on the porch. He was smoking a cigarette.

“That's bad for you, you know,” said Mycroft.

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“There are much worse things for my health than the occasional cigarette,” he protested.

“Something like love?” Mycroft asked.

“Exactly,” Sherlock replied dryly.

“I think love has gotten to you though,” Mycroft said.

“What are you talking about?” Sherlock questioned.

“I'm talking about your relationship with Dr. Watson,” Mycroft explained. “Face it Sherlock, on some level, you're in love with him. You've had flatmates before, but this one's lived with you for three years now. That is impressive. You don't fit in well with others and yet I deduce nothing but harmony between you and the doctor. I'm glad you found him. You were so lonely before.”

“I'm not lonely, Mycroft,” Sherlock protested.

“How would you know?” countered Mycroft. “You would never admit to something like loneliness, but, Sherlock, you are beyond loneliness. You're positively desperate. You desperately want to accept Dr. Watson's love, but you're so very afraid.”

“What an astute deduction,” Sherlock said sarcastically. “Weren't you leaving?”

“I was,” answered Mycroft. “I'll leave now, but I want you to think about what I said, Sherlock. It wouldn't hurt you to get back in the game. I'll see you next time.” 

 

\---

 

Inside the flat, John was doing some mental reasoning.

“Sherlock was hurt so badly,” he thought. “It only makes sense that he would push me away. This also explains Sherlock's tendency to fence himself in. I'm kinda foolish for thinking that I could get through to him. Nobody's ever gotten through to him and I don't think anyone ever will. It's stupid to continue this game with myself. I can keep pretending that he's going to change his mind. I just have to let it go and deal with it.”

Just then, the front door opened and closed.

“Sherlock, is that you?” John called out.

Sherlock's appearance at the top of the stairs answered his question.

“Can we talk?” John asked.

Sherlock nodded and the two of them sat down in the living room.

“I've been doing something thinking and I just want to say I'm sorry that I put you on the spot when I confessed my attraction,” said John. “It wasn't fair to you. I understand that you don't fancy me. I will stop pretending that things are going to change. I promise you that we can go back to how things were before my little confession. The game is over.”

Sherlock was surprised by what John was saying. He knew that it was impossible to retract and repress one's emotions, but John was offering to do just that. John was willing to forget his own emotions for the sake of Sherlock. Suddenly, he felt a flutter in his stomach. It was a bizarre feeling. He hadn't felt that way in awhile. In fact, he hadn't felt that way since Jim Moriarty, but it felt different. It was lighter, purer, more genuine. Sherlock knew what he wanted to, had to, say. So, he decided to borrow some of John's wording.

“The game is never over, John, but there may be some new players now.”

“What do you mean?” asked John.

“When you asked me for a date, I said that I didn't think I could,” Sherlock explained. “I'd like to recant my previous statement. I would like to try and go on a date with you.”

John smiled wide. He was floored, but happy, by Sherlock's change of heart.

“This is great,” John enthused.

“Please understand that I just want to try and I want nothing more than a date,” Sherlock said.

“Of course,” said John. “I completely understand. I'm just very excited.”

Sherlock gently smiled at his happy flatmate. He wanted to be as happy as John, but he just wasn't. Mostly, he was nervous.

“Oh, what have I gotten myself into?” Sherlock thought. “Stupid Sherlock. You let some form of love into your heart.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While out on his date with John, a demon from Sherlock's past comes back to haunt him.

Soon, the night of the date arrived. John put on some freshly pressed khakis and a new jumper.

As John sat on his bed and laced his shoes, he thought to himself, “It's been quite awhile since I've done this. I don't think I've been on a proper date since I've moved here. I guess it's because no one in the village ever caught my attention. Well, one person did.” John smiled to himself and went over to his mirror to check his appearance. “Everything's in order,” he thought. “Now to go pick up Sherlock.”

John knocked on Sherlock's bedroom door and asked, “Are you ready yet?” John got his answer in the form of Sherlock opening his door. He was wearing a snug, white button down and black dress trousers with matching shoes.

“You look very handsome,” John complimented. “I feel like I should've brought you flowers or something.”

Sherlock blushed at John's flattery. He wasn't used to taking compliments.

 

\---

 

They were driving for a bit when Sherlock asked John, “Where are we going?”

“Well, I'm not particularly familiar with the hot dating spots of Rodashire. So, we're going to a place that I do know. It's a restaurant called Angelo's in London. I know that's a bit far out, but it's not too long a drive and I think you'll like it.” 

“Oh,” said Sherlock quietly as he looked out the car window.

John stole a quick glance at his date.

“Poor Sherlock,” he thought. “He looks sad. I guess he's nervous. He probably hasn't been on a date in awhile either. That Moriarty guy turned him off of anything even resembling love. It's tragic really. I want Sherlock to feel comfortable with me. I wonder how I can show him that he's safe with me.”

The two of them stayed silent in their thoughts for the rest of the drive.

 

\---

 

The date progressed and it wasn't a bad date. It was just awkward. Sherlock was nervous and uncomfortable. John felt bad for him.

“I just want Sherlock to relax,” John thought.

While Sherlock silently picked at his food, John asked him, “What's troubling you, Sherlock?”

“It's a little hard to explain,” said Sherlock.

“Is is the restaurant?” John asked.

“Kind of,” Sherlock said.

“Is it too noisy?”

“Oh, it's not that,” Sherlock replied. “It's memories I guess.”

“Memories?” John repeated. “Of what?”

Sherlock didn't have the opportunity to answer because, just then, someone said his name.

“Sherlock?”

Both men looked up. Standing at their table was a man with sleek black hair and a gray suit. He looked like he was in his mid-40s. John looked back at Sherlock. His expression was a mix of shock, excitement, and fear. Now, even though John had never met this man before, he immediately knew who he was.

John's suspicions were confirmed when Sherlock said, “Jim?”

“Oh my God, Sherlock,” said the man with a grin. “I was passing by when I thought I saw you in the window. I just had to come in and see if it was really you. It's been so long. How have you been?”

John could see the memories of hurt and betrayal leaving Sherlock's eyes. He was once again becoming the stubborn teenager who believed everything he was told. 

“I'm doing well, Jim,” replied Sherlock. “How about you?”

“I'm fine,” Jim answered. “I'm just incredulous that I would see you again and at Angelo's too. How crazy is that? It's like this place is meant for us or something. I remember how I used to take you here all the time.”

John noticed how Jim was dropping his voice. His tone suggested flirtatiousness. Sherlock must have realized this because suddenly he looked as if he remembered something.

“How's Emma and Alex?” Sherlock asked.

Sherlock's question caused John to recall something that Mycroft had said about Jim Moriarty replacing Sherlock with a new girlfriend and baby son. That's probably who Emma and Alex were.

“Alex is good,” Jim reported. “He's eighteen now. He's off on his own. I don't see him much these days. It's like he doesn’t have the time for his own father.”

“What about Emma?” Sherlock asked.

Jim rubbed his neck awkwardly and looked away a bit.

Then, he said, “We broke up awhile ago. I can't remember the last time I saw her. I'm quite the lonely guy these days.”

Jim dropped his voice again and went back to his flirty tone.

“You know, I think it's fate that brought us here,” said Jim. He leaned towards Sherlock in an almost predatory way. “I want you to know that I've missed you. There's always room for you where I'm at. I can show you how much I missed you.” 

Jim bent down so that his face was level with Sherlock's. He gripped the seated man's shoulder tightly and whispered something into his ear. Whatever he whispered, it caused Sherlock to blush and make an expression of fear and shock. That was when John decided that he had enough.

John slammed his fists on the table and belligerently said, “Excuse you.”

Jim straightened up and looked at John.

“It appears I've forgotten my manners,” he say coyly. “I guess this is the part where I ask Sherlock who his little friend is.”

“Don't you fucking talk to him again,” seethed John. “You're nothing put a creepy pervert. He doesn't want you here.”

Despite John's anger, Jim stayed cool.

“That's a lot to say,” said Jim casually. “I feel as if you don't know your history.” Jim started stroking Sherlock's hair. Sherlock was frozen in fear.

"I don't think you have any right to say what Sherlock wants and doesn't wants. Do you?” asked Jim. “He can make decisions for himself. He's a big boy. He's my big boy.”

That was the final straw for John. He stood up from his seat and grabbed Jim by the shirt collar. He was actually able to get him a couple inches off the ground. Jim was shocked. This was the last thing he expected to happen.

“Don't talk to him,” repeated John, teeming with quiet rage. “He does not want you here and neither do I. If you know what's good for you, you'll piss off out of here. In the future, you'll know better than to go showing your face around us. Now, get out before you make things worse.”

John let go of Jim's collar. He stumbled a bit as he landed. Jim silently glared at John. He tried his best to keep his cool, but it was obvious that he was shaken. He brushed off the front of his suit and left the restaurant without another word.

Once he was gone, Sherlock got up and scampered off to the loo. John looked out the window. He could see Jim walking away with his arm around the shoulder of a bloke half Sherlock's age. John shook his head with disapproval.

“Memories,” John thought. “Sherlock didn't like the restaurant because of memories. It all makes sense now. I should check on him.”

John discovered the loo to be empty except for Sherlock. He found his friend at the sinks. He was staring into the mirror with tears in his eyes.

John put his arm around Sherlock and started to say, “Hey, I don't know-”

“Yes you do,” Sherlock interrupted harshly.

“What do you mean?” John asked as he took his arm off of Sherlock.

“I know Mycroft told you,” Sherlock explained. “I'm not an idiot. You didn't ask any questions about that man's identity, yet you knew exactly how dangerous he was and now you know how foolish I was. Still am I suppose.”

Tears started silently falling down Sherlock's cheeks. John put his arm around him again.

“You're not foolish,” said John.

“Oh, yes I am,” Sherlock countered. “Did you see how I was out there? I felt like I was a teenager again, helpless and naïve. Suddenly I was able to forgive him for anything because I wanted to be loved again. I always act so cold and heartless. I tell people who they should and shouldn't love, but I avoid it for myself at all costs. I act like I hate love in my life, but the truth is, I miss it. I just want to be loved, but I can't have it. All love has done is hurt me.”

John gave Sherlock a small squeeze.

“Have I hurt you, Sherlock?” he asked.

Sherlock seemed confused.

“No,” he said. “You haven't hurt me, John. If anything, you've protected me.”

“Well, then love hasn't hurt you this time,” John said.

“What do you mean?” Sherlock asked.

John laughed gently.

“For someone so smart, you sure can be dense,” he said. “I love you, Sherlock.”

Immediately, Sherlock's tears stopped. He stared blankly ahead. John wasn't sure what to make of it. He couldn't tell how Sherlock was feeling.

“Come on, you,” said John. “I think it's time to go home.” John dropped some money on the table on their way back through the dining room and led Sherlock out of the restaurant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm...This chapter bears a striking resemblance to a part in my other fic, "Smile for the Camera." I guess I just really like protective!John


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock articulates how he feels about John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Head's up: This chapter is nsfw

As John drove, an awkward silence hung between the two men.

They were out of London, but not in Rodashire yet, when John asked, “What's on your mind, Sherlock?”

“Pull over,” Sherlock instructed. “I know what I want to say, but I'm not sure exactly how to say it. Stopping the car will help me think.”

“Whatever you want,” John agreed quietly.

John pulled off the main drag and drove down a dirt road until it ended at the top of a hill. Down below, city and suburban lights alike twinkled.

John reached for the key in the ignition, but Sherlock said, “Leave the car on. It's too cold to turn it off.”

John nodded and just turned down the radio and put the car into park instead.

“You risked physical injury when you challenged Jim back at the restaurant,” said Sherlock. “You could have gotten hurt. Why did you do that?”

“I care for you,” John explained. “He made you uncomfortable and I'm not letting anyone mistreat you. I told you, Sherlock. I love you.”

“You're risking emotional trauma by saying that to me,” countered Sherlock.

“It's a risk I'm willing to take,” said John.

“What if I don't love you back?”

“It'll hurt,” admitted John. “I won't pretend that pain wouldn't be involved, but that doesn't change the fact that I love you and I want to take care of you. I want what's best for you. If denying my feelings and giving you space is what you need, so be it. Forget everything I've ever told you. If you do love me back, then that's fantastic. I'll tell you everyday. You are something special, Sherlock Holmes. Don't you ever forget that. You deserve all of the love in the world and I'd like to be the one to give it to you.”

Sherlock stared at John and smiled. He really did love Sherlock with all of this heart. He looked deeply into John's eyes and could feel a white hot heat spread all over his body.

“Oh, John,” whispered Sherlock.

The car's radio played the saxophone solo of a popular alternative song as Sherlock leaned in close to his flatmate and friend.

“Oh, John,” he repeated. “I love you too.”

Sherlock closed the gap between them and kissed John fully on the lips. It was deep and passionate. Their tongues swirled together in an intricate pattern. John moaned slightly into the kiss and Sherlock just wanted more and more. Eventually, they pulled apart.

“That was amazing,” said John.

“I haven't done that in so long,” Sherlock confessed. “It was nice.”

The two men sat for a moment, just looking at each other, reveling in the other one's presence.

Then, Sherlock's cheeks turn slightly pink and he said, “Let's go home. There's something else that I haven't done in a long time that I'd like to do tonight.”

As John put the car back into drive, Sherlock added on, “Stop at the drugstore first. There's a couple things I have to get before we can continue.”

 

\---

 

The two had barely made it into their flat before Sherlock pulled the newly purchased condoms and lubricant out of the bag. He put the two items on the coffee table and pulled John down onto the floor.

“Take me right here,” Sherlock said. “It's been quite some time. Oh, John. Please, please, please.”

John chuckled as he straddled Sherlock.

“You don't have to beg, darling,” he said. “I'm more than happy to provide.” John unbuttoned Sherlock's shirt and mused over his bare chest. “I've been wondering what you might look like naked for awhile now,” John confessed. “I'm glad I finally know that you look absolutely gorgeous.”

“Mmm, John. Touch me,” Sherlock groaned.

John lowered himself so that he was more parallel with Sherlock's body. His tongue trailed a stripe from between Sherlock's nipples to the soft part of his neck.

“That's delightful,” Sherlock sighed.

“You talk too much during sex,” John observed.

“Then shut me up,” Sherlock teased.

John smirked and covered Sherlock's mouth with his own. They were once again locked in another passionate kiss.

When they broke apart, Sherlock said, “Enough kisses. Fuck me. It's been awhile.”

John sat up straight and undid the belt on Sherlock's trousers and pulled them off. Sherlock was in just his pants now and they hid nothing of his erection. John stood up and went over to the coffee table. He pulled out a condom and laid it down on the table and then removed his clothes from the waist down. 

“Take off your pants and bend yourself over the sofa,” John said. “It'll be easier that way.”

Sherlock nodded and did as he was told.

Once John had half of his clothes off and the condom on, he looked over at Sherlock. His eyes were filled with lust and love.

“Oh, Sherlock,” John purred. “Look at you. You're beautiful. I only wish you could see what I'm looking at.”

“Show me what you see,” said Sherlock. “Make me feel it.”

“I will,” said John. “Just give me a moment.” John uncapped the bottle of lube and started greasing up his dick. Sherlock's moaning and the sight of his body bent over the sofa gave John a sizable erection.

Once John was ready, he slowly made his way over to Sherlock.

John stood behind him, but before he started anything, Sherlock asked him, “Do you really love me?”

John paused. Then, he moved to be next to Sherlock. He took hold of his friend's shoulder and gently guided him into a standing position.

“Of course I love you,” John said quietly after a soft kissed on Sherlock's cheek. “I have never been more sure of anything else in my entire life.”

Sherlock smiled and bent himself over the sofa once more. John knew that this was his cue to proceed.

John went to stand behind Sherlock again. He opened up the bottle of lube and squeezed some onto his fingers.

“I'm not just going to bang into you,” said John. “I've got to open you up a bit first.” He pushed in two fingers to the second knuckle.

 _“Oh!”_ cried Sherlock.

“Are you ok?” asked John.

“That was great,” enthused Sherlock. “Do that again.”

John smiled and pushed in a third finger. Sherlock made an appreciative noise.

“Keep going, John. Keep going. More. Do more. Fuck me. Please.”

John felt that Sherlock was ready for him. So, he took back his fingers and gripped Sherlock's hips.

“Are you ready?” John asked.

“Yes,” replied Sherlock.

John pushed in and Sherlock cried out.

Are you ok?” John asked again.

 _“Oh, John,”_ Sherlock moaned. “You're so _big._ I feel so _full._ Fuck me. Fuck me please.”

John grinned from ear to ear and did as Sherlock asked.

John thrusted in and out with a systematic rhythm. Sherlock moaned the whole way.

“I've always wondered if Sherlock was a screamer,” John thought. “I guess I have my answer now.”

In no time, the two were cumming.

When it was all over, Sherlock slithered onto the sofa and laid there in a tangle of jellied limbs. He watched John walk into the kitchen to throw out the condom.

When he came back into the living room, Sherlock said, “Lie down with me, John.” Sherlock scooted as much as he could into the wall of the sofa and John laid down next to him. It was a tight fit, but they managed.

“I guess you're back in the dating game now,” said John with a chuckle.

Sherlock laughed and agreed.

“If I had known that this was what dating you was like, I'd have accepted your initial offer on the spot.”

John smiled and said, “I think I'm going to enjoy dating you.”

“The feeling is mutual,” said Sherlock. “The game is on I suppose.”

Now it was John's turn to laugh.

“Yeah. I suppose it is,” he agreed. “I love you, Sherlock.”

"I love you too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're curious, M83's "Midnight City" is what's playing on the radio. Anyway, thanks everyone so much for the hits/kudos/comments. It really means so much to me. If you're interested in my other works, I would recommend Smile for the Camera or Bedroom Hymns.


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